David Mackall’s mother stood over her son’s open casket last Saturday morning, sobbing inconsolably, her back turned to a standing-room-only crowd gathered at Wylie Funeral Home on Liberty Road. She was mourning her child, the former University of Maryland football player gone way too soon at the age of 28, leaving two young children of his own behind.

Heartbreaking might be the only way to describe it. Indeed, as Ava Mackall cried over her son, a singer a few feet away, as if on cue, bellowed as part of his song, “Why . . . why so much pain?” The rest of the family, his father and cousins, sisters and nieces eventually got up from their seats to offer support and grieve themselves. “There’s so many wonderful things I could say about him,” his niece, Shawnaya Cawthorn, said. “I called him about anything. I don’t know who I’m going to call anymore.”

The headline that brought us to his funeral has since filtered out of most minds, as they often do: Former Maryland football player David Mackall Jr. identified as victim of fatal shooting in West Baltimore. But, like the others who were compelled to come Saturday (and the parking lot was full; some people parked their cars on the adjacent grass), we knew there was more to the story, one that you know the man wanted to be told.

I actually had a chance to meet Mackall last year. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, a chance encounter as random as your location, but I’d sat in the backseat of his car one Saturday afternoon in January, as he drove me home from the Baltimore Museum of Industry in his Uber-commissioned black sedan. Unprovoked, he quickly started talking about how proud he was of his son playing sports, the things he was teaching him, the joy it gave him. And with a part-time sportswriter as the one-man audience, we went on to talk for the entirety of the ride.

He spoke, with a humble sincerity and endearing upbeat attitude, about how he got here. How a former four-star football recruit from Edmondson-Westside High—who played before thousands of paying fans as a linebacker and defensive end at Maryland and later at the University of Delaware; who once tried out for the Baltimore Ravens—was now making ends meet by driving strangers around the city. It wasn’t what he wanted to be doing, of course, but it was what he needed to do to support his growing family, his longtime girlfriend, Jarenae, and his young son, Jacoby, now 6. Their second, Dylan, was soon to come. Mackall had plans for the future, he said, to apply for a college program, maybe in IT.

It turns out he was often proactive. “I recruited a lot of players, but he’s the only young man who recruited me,” former Edmondson football coach Dante Jones said, remembers when years ago Mackall, in 10th grade but already “looking like a grown man,” approached him in line at a local Sam’s Club and told him he wanted to play football for him. He would grow to be 6-foot-3 and 240 pounds. “He was special.”

That was the start of Mackall’s journey from the city to College Park, which included a year at Fork Union Military Academy to boost his grades, and eventually a full scholarship to play for the Terps under former football coach Ralph Friedgen. Mackall played one season for Maryland, one of only five true freshman to see playing time that year, before Friedgen was fired and Randy Edsall was hired, which resulted in 13 players bolting from the program and Mackall suspended for the final four games of his sophomore season amid a clash with the new coach. (In the car that day, Mackall told me that, in order to speak with Edsall, he needed to make an appointment with his secretary.)

Mackall was granted his release, chose to stay close to home, and transferred to Delaware. After sitting out the 2012 season with an injury, he played all 12 games for the Blue Hens at outside linebacker, and started at middle linebacker his senior season, leading the team with 84 tackles in 2014. In the summer, he worked at popular Newark restaurant Klondike Kate’s, and Mackall graduated in May 2015 with a bachelor’s degree in sociology and a minor in criminal justice. Then he started working as a truck driver for Coastal Sunbelt Produce.

We do not yet know the exact circumstances of his death, but two weeks ago, on May 29, Mackall was shot and killed in broad daylight, gunshot wounds to the head and torso, in Walbrook, a neighborhood in West Baltimore where he grew up. He passed away at a local hospital. Police haven’t named a suspect or anyone arrested in his death, an all-too-familiar refrain attached to many of the 300-plus homicides in each of the last four years in the city. “Baltimore people, God’s people, wake up. Get your community back,” Cynthia Bruce, a representative from Mothers of Murdered Sons and Daughters, said at Mackall’s funeral on Saturday. Her son, Marcus Downer, 23, was shot 19 times and killed in the city in July 2015.

I thought about the injustices—of a city where gun-related murders are as common as a football game, of a college athletics and university system that makes so much money from its players and too often doesn’t really care what happens afterward—when I first met Mackall, and I think about it now. He’d “made it,” but not far enough. That much we know from his death.

“He was a wonderful man. He touched a lot of us,” pastor Steven Hinnant, Mackall’s cousin and a teacher at Edmondson-Westside, said Saturday. “The thing that really struck my heart was that he was an overcomer. I saw him face things in life. Sports is wonderful because it’s a microcosm of life. He had some challenges, because of the system, before he could go to the University of Maryland. He tackled his grades, and accepted that scholarship. Some other challenges came. He had to tackle that situation and moved on to the University of Delaware. I’d never been so proud that he persevered through those situations.”

That’s a story worth telling, which is what we’d discussed near the end of our delightful conversation in his car. We exchanged contact information, and I sincerely wanted to speak with him again. “I’d really like that,” he said. He said he’d thought about speaking at city schools, to inspire other kids to try to get to college, to make something of themselves. He even said he’d written out some of his story, hoping to one day share it.

“He was one of the greatest of the true Colts . . . ”
—Pete Genovese, son of an Italian barber

Last week, when the first reports of Gino Marchetti’s death hit the news, somebody on TV flubbed the Hall of Fame football legend’s last name. Instead of pronouncing the second syllable with a hard C—as in “kettle”—he made a soft C, like “cheddar.”

Obviously, the guy behind the microphone did not grow up in Baltimore.

“Gino Mar-cheh-tee died,” was how it came over Phyllis DeFelice Rubino’s television in Belair. As soon as the words were out of the announcer’s mouth, the die-hard Colts fan called the station to complain.

Rubino, who came of age in 1950s Highlandtown when the area was Baltimore’s second Little Italy, wasn’t the only Colts fan to call TV Hill with a correction after Marchetti succumbed to pneumonia on April 29 in Paoli, Pennsylvania. He was 93.

But it’s a good bet that the she was the only one who jumped up and down on the Memorial Stadium sidelines and screamed Marchetti’s name —along with Unitas and Donovan, Ameche and Parker—in white boots and a short blue jumper way back when she was an original Colts cheerleader.

“He was like a freight train,” said Rubino of the 6-foot-4, 245-pound defensive end, a Colt from 1953 through 1966. Freight train, yes—his surviving peers were quoted in nationwide obituaries saying you did not want to get in Gino’s way. But he was also quick off the snap, agile, and as fast as just about anyone in the backfield, be it running back or quarterback, whom it was his job to bring down. “We went crazy when he made a tackle,” said Rubino, who cheered for the team for more than a decade.

The West Virginia-born Marchetti was the son of an immigrant coal miner. He was the husband to Joan Plecenik; father to Gina Burgess, Michelle Kapp, John Marchetti, and Eric Marchetti; stepfather to Donna Lloyd; and beloved grandfather and great-grandfather many times over.

But to Nazzareno F. Vellegia—the 86-year-old son of one of Little Italy’s original restaurateurs—Marchetti was a dear friend and, not long after the Colts were humiliated by the New York Jets in the 1969 Super Bowl, the best man at his wedding.

He was a big fan of the polenta parties hosted by Enrico Vellegia, founder of the restaurant at 829 East Pratt Street, which began serving meals out of the family’s private kitchen on High Street in 1937 and was sold in 2009. It is now a failed and shuttered sports bar.

“Gino’s favorite dish was veal saltimbocca,” said “Naz” Vellegia of the veal, prosciutto, and sage dish marinated in dry white wine. The name translates into “jumps in the mouth,” for how good it is and plenty made the journey from plate to palate when Marchetti dined at Vellegia’s.

Naz said his extended family got to know Marchetti and some of his teammates—particularly fellow Italians Alan Ameche and Joe Campanella—when the local Italian-American Civic Club invited them to a father and son dinner. “He was very proud to be Italian. We all were,” said Naz.

The trio of Italian ballplayers would later launch a fast-food restaurant called Gino’s in Dundalk, which became a chain whose “Gino Giant,” is said to have been copied by McDonald’s for the Big Mac. The burger joint’s jingle is still fondly remembered: “Everybody goes to Gino’s, cuz Gino’s is the place to go . . .”

“Marchetti was one of the greatest defensive players I ever watched,” said Pete Genovese, who grew up above his father’s barbershop at 234 South Highland Avenue before moving to St. Louis to teach college literature. “No smart coach or quarterback ever ran a play to his side.”

Genovese’s father Pietro was not an especially keen fan of sports, but he knew enough to know which teams had an Italian on the roster and would root for that paisan no matter for whom he played. “He’s the one who told me that [Red Sox outfielder] Tony Conigliaro’s name meant ‘rabbit,’” he said. “It was all a matter of pride.”

When it came to other ethnicities, however, the old barber had a decidedly closed mind. Pete never told his father that Hall of Fame catcher Roy Campanella of the Brooklyn Dodgers [and the Baltimore Elite Giants of the Negro Leagues] was African-American.

Marchetti, however, was vocal in his support of his black teammates, both in college and in the pros. “He stood up for his black college teammates [at the University of San Francisco] before a bowl game that tried to exclude blacks,” said Jack Gilden, author of Collision of Wills, a 2018 book about the testy relationship between Colts quarterback Johnny Unitas and coach Don Shula. “Gino urged the team to turn down the invitation and they did.”

Deeply held, Marchetti brought his convictions to Baltimore—where in 1969 he was named the best defensive end in the first half-century of NFL history—and the Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio in 1972.

Upon learning of his old friend, teammate, and fellow Hall of Famer’s death, Colts running back Lenny Moore told the The Baltimore Sun: “With all of the racism and stuff going on then, Gino was right there in our corner, and we never forgot that.”

Marchetti’s death, said Moore, “ . . . hits the heart.”

Right between the blue horseshoes on a white helmet.

For some, an eternal, undying hate for Tom Brady and the New England Patriots is sufficient fuel to make it through the Super Bowl. Still, man cannot live on hate alone; he needs beer and bar grub—and plenty of it. Luckily, with a raft of Super Bowl events all around the area, some of Baltimore’s finest eateries and drinkeries are more than willing to oblige. Whether you’re a face-painting zealot or a gridiron agnostic, these nine specials promise sweet victory. Even if the Patriots win.

Jimmy’s Famous Seafood
This Dundalk restaurant’s Super Bowl party is a Baltimore staple. For the 28th consecutive year, Jimmy’s will be host to an open bar and an oyster and bull roast. What’s more, there will be a silent auction and appearances from past and present Baltimore Ravens. Oh, and 30 (!) televisions. While this year’s special guests have not yet been announced, Steve Smith Sr., CJ Mosley, and Torrey Smith have attended in the past. Tickets are $70 and going fast.

R. House
To celebrate the Big Game—well, big games, depending on how much you wagered on the Puppy Bowl—this Remington establishment is rolling out the green carpet. The food hall will be decked with wall-to-wall astroturf for a family-friendly and pet-inclusive Puppy-Bowl-cum-Super-Bowl watch party. R. House is also offering food and drink specials: $5 cups of punch, buck-a-shuck oysters from The Urban Oyster, and $3 Michelob Ultra and Natty Boh. Oh boy, what a deal.

Bunzzz Sports Bar & Grill
Located in a space in The Gallery formerly occupied by a Brooks Brothers—or Brookzzz Brotherzzz—this recently opened Inner Harbor spot has quickly become a sports-watching haven. As such, it’s commemorating its inaugural Super Bowl with an open bar and specials on wings, pizza, and sliders. Door prizes, namely $25 gift cards, will be awarded at the end of each quarter. Tickets are $25 in advance, $30 at the door.

Mother’s Federal Hill Grille
Although there will be no tailgate on the famous Purple Patio until next fall, when Lamar Jackson—please, let it be Lamar Jackson—and the rest of the Ravens take the field, that doesn’t mean that this Federal Hill favorite will lie fallow on Sunday. For just $25, you can watch the game, play free video games, and strive to find the bottom of the bottomless wings, draft beer, and rail cocktails.

GAME
Equal parts arcade, night club, and sports bar, this massive Federal Hill mainstay will fill its 10,000 square feet with not only 30 televisions, but six high-definition projectors as well. For those looking for an early kick-off, the drink specials begin at 2 p.m., leaving ample time to indulge in $4 domestic beers and tin cup spritzers, $5 Absolut bombs, and $6 cups of super punch. During halftime, wings will be just 50 cents a pop.

The Port Public House
Have you ever dreamed of watching the Super Bowl alongside some of Baltimore’s elite (yes, elite) football players? Now’s your shot. This 118-year-old Locust Point institution’s Super Bowl party, hosted by the Baltimore Nighthawks (Baltimore’s women’s tackle football team), will display the game on a goliath 168-inch projector. Portions of the proceeds from the Super Bowl Squares pool and the night’s food and drink specials will go toward covering the Nighthawks’ travel expenses this upcoming season.

Johnny’s
As great as a traditional Sunday football experience can be, sometimes you need a respite from two long-lost Sobotka cousins working their way through a rack of Natty Boh and grunting that it’s so stupid—pronounced stew-pid—that you can’t even touch the quarterback anymore. Enter Johnny’s. While some other specials are mere vehicles for copious amounts of fat and salt and beer, this Roland Park restaurant provides a more elevated option: $14 for crab dip in a bread bowl; $18 for a burger piled high with pulled pork, pepper jack cheese, bacon, coleslaw, crispy onions, and an Old Bay barbecue sauce.

The Mt. Washington Tavern
Closing out the football season in style, this Mount Washington, uh, tavern is cheffing up its own spin on classic ballpark fare. These party plates—$4 for a choice of a plate of buffalo bites, two hot dogs, soft pretzel bites with beer cheese dip, or cheese curds—will be served in the restaurant’s SkyBar (which is PR-speak for “up a few stairs” bar). And lest you forget that this, after all, it is a bar, there will also be $2 cans of Narrangasett, $4 drafts of Old Hilltop, and $6 cocktails made of Tito’s Vodka.

The Brass Tap
The Baltimore City location of this chain gets most of the attention, but the county one has fun, too. Namely, this Towson venue has established itself as a game-day go-to way out in that pastoral idyll we call Baltimore County. Food and drink specials abound—$2 Jell-O shots for $2, $15 buckets of beers entire bucket of beers for $15, $4 glasses of house wine, and, most exciting, $5 for pizza fries.

Johns Hopkins football coach Jim Margraff, the program’s all-time winningest coach and the recently named NCAA Division III Coach of the Year, died Wednesday at his home in Timonium. He was 58, and less than a month removed from leading the Blue Jays to their first-ever D-III national semifinal game and a program-best 12-2 record.

School officials did not release a cause of death, but said it came suddenly.

Margraff had just completed his 29th season coaching at his alma mater, where he played quarterback and graduated in 1982 as the program’s career leader in passing yards and touchdowns. After a few assistant coaching stops, he took over as head coach at Johns Hopkins in the summer of 1990.

“Jim Margraff was a thoughtful, humble, passionate, and exceptionally talented leader and our thoughts and prayers are with his family and friends at this difficult time,” Johns Hopkins athletic director Alanna W. Shanahan said in a statement. “He left an indelible impact on all he touched and he made us all better. We will forever be thankful for the unparalleled experiences he provided for so many over the course of his highly successful career.”

Margraff completed the 2018 season with a career record of 221-89-3, as the Blue Jays ended the year with a 28-20 loss to 13-time national champion Mount Union. At Hopkins, Margraff won a Centennial Conference-record 14 league championships and advanced to the playoffs 10 times. His 221 wins are also the most by any college football coach in Maryland state history. He was inducted to the Johns Hopkins Athletic Hall of Fame in 1997.

In 2015, we profiled the Blue Jays football team, which ran through the regular season undefeated and was in search of a deep playoff run.

Friends, fellow coaches, and admirers shared their public condolences upon release of the sad news on Wednesday, including the Ravens and coach John Harbaugh, who praised Margraff as a “highly respected member of the Baltimore community and an icon at Johns Hopkins.”

A memorial service will be held on Johns Hopkins’ Homewood campus, with more details to be announced by the school.

Additionally, Margraff is a finalist for the American Football Coaches Association National Coach of the Year award, which will be announced Tuesday.

Margraff was originally from the north shore of Long Island, where he was a standout high school quarterback and baseball player before heading south to Baltimore. He broke many of his passing records at Johns Hopkins while throwing to Bill Stromberg, now the president and CEO of T. Rowe Price.

Margraff is survived by his wife, Alice, and children Megan, James, and Will. Alice Margraff is a 1989 Johns Hopkins graduate, and Megan Margraff graduated from Johns Hopkins in 2017.

The drive of Joe Flacco’s life didn’t begin in hostile Heinz Field or even in a stadium. It
originated in the predawn hours of June 13 at his home in Owings Mills
following a phone call from his wife, Dana, and concluded 135 minutes
later in a hospital room in Voorhees, NJ.

“At a quarter to five in
the morning she called me and was like, ‘I haven’t gotten any sleep all
night, I’ve been debating calling you for two hours. I think it’s
time,’” he says six weeks later, at ease on a couch in an office at the
Ravens’ Under Armour Performance Center. “So I was like, ‘Call your mom
up, call your doctor, see what they say.’ They told her, ‘Take your time
but come in.’ She got in around 6:30 and they told her, ‘It’s time,
you’re staying.’”

Flacco was excused from practice, jumped into
his Ford F-150 and raced up I-95. “I left here at like 6:45 in the
morning and got up there around 9.”

The NFL’s most-successful-yet-still-curiously-maligned quarterback was determined to witness the birth of his first child.

“Everybody
was [asking] me, ‘Are you gonna look? You don’t want to do that,’” he
says. “I was like, ‘I’m definitely looking.’ I was right there on the
side of the bed, I watched the whole entire thing, from the time when
you could barely see his head to the time he was out. It was pretty cool
to see him come out.”

A slight smile creeps onto Flacco’s face as
he recounts the day, his most momentous one in a year filled with them.
Throughout a season that included a scintillating comeback in
Pittsburgh and a heartbreaking playoff loss in New England, criticism
from within the organization and a media-driven “controversy” fueled by
his candor—not to mention, contract negotiations that seemingly devolved
from complicated to contentious—Flacco’s public demeanor remained
unchanged.

It’s all white noise to the impossibly even-keeled QB,
who thrives on the steadiness that so maddens fans who mistake it for
stoicism.

“We taught him never let anybody see you sweat,” says
his father, Steve, for whom Joe and his high-school sweetheart Dana
named their son Stephen. It’s a lesson Flacco, 27, has leaned on
throughout his unlikely career, one that’s won him an unprecedented
number of football games but no popularity contests.

“My dad’s my
best friend,” he says. “The biggest thing he preached was being tough. I
think a tough guy doesn’t really show many emotions. Not to say that I
don’t have emotion, because that’s not true. But when things are going
bad, as a leader, you can’t act like anything is wrong. You go out there
and take each snap like it’s the same, no matter what the score is, no
matter what happened on the last play. It’s just the way I was brought
up, it’s the way my parents are. You definitely end up more like them
than you admit.”

“Until I got here, they hadn’t won a playoff game since the Super Bowl year. Every year we’ve won a playoff game. It’s not what we want to do overall, but we’ve had very good seasons.”

If that’s true—and most of us eventually concede
that it is—then, throughout his life, little Stephen Flacco, like his
daddy, will cherish two things above all others: family and football.

Of
the NFL’s 32 starting quarterbacks, Joe Flacco may be the only one
who’s been ribbed his entire life for having a big head—literally.

“His head was always humungous for his body,” says his brother, Mike, a baseball player in the Orioles minor-league system.

“They
call him the Kingdome, the Superdome,” his father says. “When he was a
sophomore in high school he was six-four, 165 pounds with a size 7 ½
head.”

The oldest of five boys and a girl, Joe seldom got into
trouble throughout his childhood in Audubon, NJ, a suburb of
Philadelphia.

“He was very responsible,” his mother, Karen, says. “He was known as Father Joe.”

Baseball
was Flacco’s sport of choice until seventh grade when Steve, a former
running back at the University of Pennsylvania, allowed him to try
football.

“Because I started so late, by the time I got there,
they already had kids who had been playing quarterback, so I played
running back, tight end, receiver,” Flacco says. “I always had a knack
for throwing the ball. I can’t remember a time when we didn’t go out and
mess around and play football as much as we could. I always had a
pretty good arm, so I knew I wanted to play quarterback.”

In high
school, Flacco shot up to over six feet, the first in the family to
eclipse the mark. His father is 5-feet-11-inches, his mother 5-feet-6.
Despite putting up gaudy numbers—he once threw for more than 450 yards
and three touchdowns and ran for two more in a 67-35 loss—Flacco
received only a smattering of scholarship offers. He accepted one to the
University of Pittsburgh.

After redshirting his freshman year and
serving as a backup his sophomore season, Flacco transferred to the
University of Delaware, much to Pitt’s chagrin, where he figured he’d
have a better chance to play, even if it wasn’t in the spotlight of
Division I-A. “Joe is a tremendously gifted athlete,” Delaware coach
K.C. Keeler says. “He’s just got a world of talent, and you could see
that very quickly when he got here.”

Because Pitt was upset that
Flacco transferred, the school chose not to release him, forcing him to
sit out a season. When he got a chance on the field, Flacco led Delaware
to the Division I-AA national title game his senior year, smashing
school records in the process. NFL scouts started showing up in droves.

“I
remember Joe calling me during the whole draft process, and he was a
little upset because [Ravens general manager] Ozzie Newsome had called
two or three times and had asked why he wasn’t a captain,” Keeler says.
“It was one of those strange years where we had a consensus All-American
tailback, who was a four-year starter for us, and we had an
All-American offensive lineman. Those two guys were voted the offensive
captains.

“But the team was Joe’s. He said, ‘Can someone tell
those guys with the Ravens that this was my team?’ The best thing I said
was this team took on Joe’s personality; it never ever panicked. It
played with a steady belief in itself. It never got too high or too
low.”
Apparently, Newsome was convinced.

Baltimore took Flacco
in the first round of the 2008 draft, making him only the second
Division I-AA quarterback in history drafted that high. When the season
started, Flacco was under center.

“Obviously I didn’t know as
much as I know now, but I think the biggest thing for me as a young kid
was to calm my mind down and say, ‘Hey, it’s football, go out and
play,’” he says. “When I was a rookie, I didn’t want to come in here and
step on people’s toes and act like I was some big deal. I felt like I
had to prove myself.”

Flacco and a fellow rookie, head coach John
Harbaugh, led the Ravens to the AFC Championship game, and both were
praised for exhibiting poise beyond their years. Yet, as the victories
kept coming—Flacco’s 44 regular season wins are the most by a starting
quarterback in his first four years in the NFL—his reputation morphed
from a stable leader to a “game manager” incapable of using his arm to
lead the defensively-strong and run-oriented Ravens to victory.

“I don’t think there’s any other quarterback besides Aaron Rodgers that can throw the ball the way that he can.”

“Sometimes
I think people perceive [the team] a certain way just because that’s
what we’ve been over the last 10 years,” he says. “Well, you know what?
Until I got here, until John Harbaugh got here, they hadn’t won a
playoff game since the Super Bowl year. Every year we’ve been here we’ve
won a playoff game. It’s not what we want to do overall, but we’ve had
very good seasons.”

None better than last, when Baltimore swept
the Steelers, won the AFC North division and came within one late
dropped pass of making it to the Super Bowl. Yet Flacco’s play still was
criticized. After a playoff win against Houston in which Flacco put up
pedestrian numbers, Ravens safety Ed Reed said it didn’t appear his
quarterback “had a hold on the offense.”

Flacco nonchalantly brushed aside the comment and proceeded to outplay Patriots legend Tom Brady the next week.

In April, Flacco appeared on local sports radio station WNST and was asked if he considered himself a top-five quarterback.

“Without
a doubt,” he responded. “What do you expect me to say? I assume
everybody thinks they’re a top-five quarterback. I mean, I think I’m the
best. I don’t think I’m top five, I think I’m the best. I don’t think
I’d be very successful at my job if I didn’t feel that way. I mean, come
on.”

Hardly a shocking answer, yet one that created a firestorm.
Anti-Flaccoites rolled their eyes, noting that his 2011 QB rating was
14th (out of 34 players). Of the more than 95,000 votes in a
SportsNation online poll, 61 percent indicated Flacco was not an “elite”
quarterback. Whatever that means.

“Joe doesn’t play games, he’s
going to tell you honestly how he feels,” Delaware coach Keeler says.
“It’s not like, ‘Okay, what would sound best in a sound bite?’ It’s not
that he’s not savvy—he is as smart as the day is long—but he’s not going
to compromise his belief system. [His attitude is] I know you’re going
to take the sound bite and use it however you want, but I’m not going to
change who I am. Like it or leave it, this is who I am.”

Perhaps
Flacco’s quiet disposition contributes to the way he is perceived. Fans
screaming at their TVs like to see similar outward emotion from their
heroes.

“Unless you are in the locker room or you know me, it’s
tough to get a read from me because I’m not a very outgoing person,” he
says. “I’m not really vocal in the way a rah-rah kind of guy is. I don’t
think [leadership] is when things are going bad let’s go yell at
somebody and get them fired up. I think we’re a bunch of professionals.
If we’re not fired up, something’s wrong. A pep talk ain’t gonna do
anything for anybody. Pregame speeches on Saturday night, I don’t think
they do anything, so I’m not gonna do them. When it all comes down to
it, we all have to have a little bit of self-motivation, and when Sunday
comes, we have to be able to turn the switch on. If we can’t do that,
we shouldn’t be professional football players.”

Matt Birk,
Flacco’s center for three years, sees Joe’s stoicism as an advantage.
“Joe’s always been Joe,” he says. “Joe might be a little bit quieter,
but, at the same time, when Joe does speak up, he’s doing it because he
has something to say. It’s kind of like the old E.F. Hutton ad: When Joe
talks, people listen.”

Flacco’s record speaks for itself. Since 2008, he has won more games than any quarterback in the league.

Phil
Simms knows a little something about winning. He earned two Super Bowl
rings quarterbacking the New York Giants, and is CBS Sports’ lead NFL
color commentator.

“If you put Joe Flacco in a quarterback-driven
offense with a franchise and a head coach and an owner . . . who’s
behind him, he would throw up numbers that are [impressive] just like
all these other guys,” he told SiriusXM NFL Radio in July. “But he’s not
on that type of team, he’s not [with] that type of head coach. What he
does with that organization for that football team, I think, is as good
as anybody else in the league.”

Rob Agnone played with Flacco at
both Pitt and Delaware. He spent a season with the Patriots, which makes
his analysis of Flacco that much more striking.

“He has more
natural God-given talent than any of the quarterbacks I’ve played with.
It’s not even close,” he says. “Tom Brady is by far the best quarterback
in the NFL, there’s no doubt about it, but just going off God-given
talent, arm strength, accuracy, I feel Joe has more ability than him. He
hasn’t proven it with [big] wins, and I think Joe would tell you the
same thing. He’s got to win the Super Bowl to be in that level, but he
has the talent to do it.”

Ravens wide receiver Anquan Boldin, who played with future Hall of Fame quarterback Kurt Warner in Arizona, agrees.

“I
don’t think there’s any other quarterback besides Aaron Rodgers that
can throw the ball the way that he can,” he says. “He can make any throw
on the football field, from hash to sidelines, deep balls, you name it.
I definitely think he’s a top five quarterback. But he don’t care about
all that.”

Flacco is uninterested in the debate. His confidence
is iron-clad, his skin thick. He claims not to watch ESPN, instead
preferring to keep up with the Kardashians or other reality shows with
Dana.

“I don’t care how much respect I’m getting in the media, as
long as I feel like the people in this building respect me, then I’m
cool,” he says. “If it ever came to a point where I didn’t feel that
way, that’s when I’d feel a little bit hurt.”

“We all, at some point, started to play this game because it was fun. We lose track of that.”

Maybe 2012 will be
Flacco’s breakout year. The Ravens are using a more wide-open offense;
his first pass of the season was a beautiful 52-yard bomb to Torrey
Smith. Could that have been a harbinger of things to come, or is Flacco
destined to be remembered as Trent Dilfer is, a quarterback the Ravens
won in spite of?

“If that’s what people say, that’s what people
will say, it doesn’t mean it’s the truth,” he says defiantly yet not
angrily. “I hope we throw for 5,000 yards and win the Super Bowl. I
don’t want to be throwing for 150 yards a game and winning. I’ll take
it, but I feel that I give us the best chance of winning, doing what I
do best.”

Such is Flacco’s complicated relationship with Baltimore
that when he cancelled his annual appearance at the Special Olympics’
Polar Bear Plunge just a few days after the New England loss to spend
time with his pregnant wife, some actually ripped him apart.

Adam
Hays was not among them. A 28-year-old Special Olympian from Frederick,
Hays has met Flacco several times at events, including a casino-night
fundraiser a few weeks before the Ravens hosted him at training camp
this summer.

“When Joe came by what was really exciting for me was
to hear him say, ‘Nice to see you again.’” says Hays, who wears a
Flacco No. 5 jersey during Ravens games. “He’s very cool, and it seems
like he’s very relaxed. He seems like he’s very kind to everyone that he
comes in contact with. When I look around at my fellow athletes seeing
that Joe and the Ravens take their time out to help show us the skills
in football and just to be with us, it shows that they think of people
with intellectual disabilities as athletes out on the field. It really
means a lot that they see past those barriers.”

Flacco seems
unaware that his mere presence has such an impact on people’s lives. He
politely deflects a question about his work with the Special Olympics,
saying it’s something he enjoys immensely.

“It’s cool to see the
athletes out there having fun,” he says. “We all, at some point, started
to play this game because it was fun. We lose track of that.”

Throughout
his career, he has never lost track of who he is. He’s a father, a
husband, a son, a brother. He’s extremely confident in his athletic
abilities. He’s a winner.

What he’s not is an actor. His work for Pizza Hut makes Ray Rice’s commercial performances look downright De Niro-esque.

“I
feel completely awkward doing that stuff, but, sometimes, it’s too good
to turn down,” he says. “I turn off [my ads] as soon as I see them. If
I’m in the car and I hear my voice on the radio, I turn the station.”

Flacco
recently bought a house in New Jersey a mile from both his parents’ and
Dana’s. His folks attend every home game, and, before Stephen arrived,
the family used to hit a diner afterwards, win or lose. He’s so
comfortable in his own skin that he describes himself as a “pretty
boring person,” who likes to “play a little golf and hang out with the
family.” Not exactly Tom-and-Gisele tabloid fodder.

“He’s always
here after hours in the building, up by himself watching film, making
sure he knows the defensive looks, making sure he’s got a leg up on the
competition,” says tight end and close friend Dennis Pitta. “Every time I
get here, his car’s in the parking lot, and every time I leave, it’s
still here.”

When he climbs back into the driver’s seat after
another long day, Flacco heads to an ever-growing household. His younger
brother, Brian, and nephew, David, are living with him, Dana, and
Stephen, and it’s a safe bet that the family will expand soon.

“I
can’t imagine not having a good amount of people in the house,” he says,
his voice thick with a South Jersey drawl. “I’m not saying I need six
kids, but I wouldn’t complain if we get to that point.”

Is he a top-five quarterback? Let others waste their time with meaningless lists. Joe Flacco’s got work to do, games to win.

And a family to get home to.

If you ever lose a coveted job you’ve held for 11 years to somebody just out of college, in part because of an illness or injury, then have to explain how it feels to the world, make sure to remember what Joe Flacco said on Wednesday, December 12, 2018, surrounded by reporters at the Ravens practice facility.

It was a few minutes after coach John Harbaugh announced that rookie Lamar Jackson would continue as the team’s starting quarterback, even as the franchise’s former Super Bowl-winning QB is now back healthy after dealing with a right hip injury for more than a month.

“It’s out of my hands,” Flacco said of the decision, in his first public comments since he was injured November 3 against the Steelers. “I got hurt. They drafted Lamar in the first round. At some point, something was going to happen between the two of us.

“I’ve obviously had five weeks to think about it and prepare myself for this situation and the possibility of it. Yes, I’m disappointed that I can’t be in that locker room in the same capacity that I’ve always been. But this is my situation right now, and I’m going to do my best to handle it the right way.”

That’s never an easy thing to do, to accept: “It’s part of the game, man.” To support: “[Lamar is] playing well, so we just need to keep getting some wins and see what happens.” To keep your dignity while being honest: “It’s different. I want to play football. It’s going to take some getting used to, but you have to be professional.”

The writing had been on the wall for a few weeks—indeed we recently wrote “Is the Joe Cool Era Over?”—but when Harbaugh texted Flacco on Tuesday morning to come into his office and made the change official, it had to be difficult news for Flacco to stomach, though you won’t hear him say it.

“I don’t know if it was the hardest conversation because, I think in both of our minds, we probably knew that the talk was coming at some point,” Flacco said.

Since Flacco went out with an injury, with the Ravens then on a three-game losing streak, Jackson has injected new energy into the team. The Ravens are 3-1 with him as the starter, beginning with three wins before an overtime loss to one of the league’s best teams in Kansas City last Sunday. Baltimore could make the playoffs for the first time in three years, and that’s, really, what the point of the season is.

The way Jackson plays—running, running, and running some more—is exciting and different. But it also makes him particularly susceptible to injury. Jackson hurt his ankle just last week. Plus, scenarios could present themselves when Flacco’s arm could be useful, like late in last Sunday’s game when the Ravens needed to score quickly. Instead, Flacco stood on the frigid sideline in a winter hat and jacket, consoling Jackson after his end-of-game fumble and predicting that the Chiefs kicker was going to miss a field goal. (He did.)

So, this might not be a no-going-back, changing-of-the-starting-QB guard, anyway. Flacco could very well see the field sometime soon, maybe even on Sunday against Tampa Bay. We’ll save the potential goodbye for the final regular season home game of the season at the end of this month.

Beyond that? The sticking point really is, the $25 million that Flacco is owed next year is an exorbitant amount for a team to pay for a backup quarterback—even a Super Bowl winning one that’s handling things professionally.

If Jackson continues to prove his mettle the last three games of the season and helps the Ravens to the postseason, and it’s clear that Flacco would not start next season, in a perfect world, he and the Ravens would negotiate a new lower-paying contract and the team would continue to have one of the better quarterback situations in the league. A promising young QB and a seasoned elder statesman closing out his career as a backup is a valuable combination in the injury-riddled world of professional football.

If that doesn’t happen, though, the Ravens could simply cut Joe Cool, or try to trade him. Does he end up in Washington? Or New York? Those are teams who could use a quarterback, even for a year or two. Or maybe Flacco, at age 33 with a wife and five kids, and having endured debilitating injuries the last two years, will just retire.

It’s hard to imagine Flacco in different-colored uniform, or that he’d want to stray very far from Baltimore. He’s lived in relative close proximity his entire life, from growing up in southern New Jersey, heading to college in Pittsburgh, transferring to Delaware, then being drafted by the Ravens and marrying and raising a family here. Heck, his brother is now the quarterback at Towson.

Uprooting from all of that isn’t easy, even for someone with a multi-million dollar net worth. Which, let’s not fool ourselves, cushions the blow of a job loss, too. But that still doesn’t mean it’s easy to step aside with grace.

“The season goes on,” he said. “Just because I’m not playing doesn’t mean the season comes to a halt and ends. There are times that I may feel like that, but everything keeps going. It may move on in a little bit of a different way, but it moves on without you. At some point, you realize that.”

Jordan Martin McNair was my son. He was flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone. He was good. I don’t say this just because I am Jordan’s father; I say this because it took an entire village to raise the son I, and his mother Tonya, had the privilege of raising. Our plans did not include his death. Our plans included something more. Our plans included him.
—Martin McNair, July 15, 2018, “Jordan’s Journey: A Letter From a Father.”

As heartbreaking as the death of University of Maryland football player Jordan McNair was and continues to be—with last weekend his former teammates threatening to boycott their game against Michigan—it’s somehow even more startling when you consider the circumstances are part of a larger, fatal trend.

Martin McNair and Tonya Wilson, the grieving parents of the 19-year-old former McDonogh standout lineman who died June 13 from complications of heatstroke suffered during an offseason conditioning session at Maryland, recently sat down for an interview with HBO’s Real Sports for a segment in which the newsmagazine show noted that McNair’s death was the 30th of its kind since the year 2000.

That’s right, 30 college football players have died in the last 18 years as a result of workout sessions, deaths that are entirely avoidable, according to medical experts, McNair’s case included.

“He went from a healthy kid Tuesday morning to you’re talking about a liver transplant Wednesday afternoon,” Martin McNair said. “We’re still trying to grapple with, ‘What happened?’”

By now you probably know: McNair began to struggle after an organized series of 110-yard outdoor sprints, and amid a mismanaged diagnosis and treatment of heatstroke, he had a seizure. By the time team personnel called 911 an hour and seven minutes after McNair showed his first symptoms of being ill, he arrived at the university’s shock trauma center with a body temperature of 106 degrees.

Two weeks later, his organs failing, McNair died after doctors took him off the machines that were keeping him alive. “There was nothing else we could do,” Tonya Wilson said.

In August, university president Wallace Loh said the school accepted “legal and moral responsibility” for McNair’s death and athletic director Damon Evans said that training staff didn’t follow standard heatstroke treatment best practices, which include cold-water immersion upon a player showing signs of symptoms.

Dr. Douglas Casa, CEO of UConn’s Korey Stringer Institute, dedicated to preventing heat and sudden death in sports in the name of the former NFL lineman who died from heatstroke in 2001, told HBO that McNair’s death was avoidable. Putting a player in a cold-water tub would save lives 100 percent of the time by dropping body temperature rapidly, Casa said. The problem is, for McNair and at least a dozen others in college football in the last two decades, this didn’t happen.

Reports of the incident didn’t go public until an ESPN report more than two months after it, which led to the negotiated dismissal of head athletic trainer Rick Court, the suspension of head coach D.J. Durkin and members of the training staff, and a pair of investigations. One was into the circumstance of the death itself, which found staff failed to quickly diagnose and treat McNair’s heatstroke, and another, still ongoing, is focused on the reported “toxic culture” of the football program under Durkin, who remains on administrative leave as the team continues to play.

But, last weekend, they almost didn’t.

Ahead of their game last Saturday at Michigan, a 42-21 loss, some members of the team found out that a booster who’d made comments to the Maryland student newspaper that essentially blamed McNair for his own death—“As much as we hate to say this Jordan didn’t do what Jordan was supposed to do,” Rick Jaklitsch, a lawyer and former president of the Terrapin Club, said—was scheduled to fly on their charter. Players threatened to boycott the game unless Jaklitsch was booted from the flight. He ultimately was, but the confrontation was telling.

In a statement Monday, Martin McNair called Jaklitsch’s remarks “outrageous and despicable,” and asked the university’s board of regents “to show our deceased son and our family some decency and respect by asking your surrogates to discontinue blaming Jordan for his own death.”

“It has been over 100 days since Jordan died, and President Wallace Loh accepted moral and legal responsibility for the death of our son. Our nightmare continues,” McNair said. “Words can’t describe the added anguish and new hardship we now are experiencing as we listen to and watch the University of Maryland and surrogates of the university continue to blame our son for his own death during a football practice conducted by adult coaches who should have known better.”

The McNair family has already started a foundation designed to educate athletes and parents about the symptoms of heatstroke, while an institution—using other powerless players just like McNair to generate revenue, exposure, and tuition—pays them only lip service.

The start of fall means colored foliage, sweater weather, pumpkin spice lattes, and the sound of birds overhead flying south. But in Baltimore, fall is bird season as Joe Flacco and his flock hit the field. Whether you are a die-hard Ravens fan who watches every game or just someone who loves to eat those pre-game burgers and dogs, it’s always fun to get friends together to watch the Ravens dominate—just like they did in game one. And with special game-day food and drink deals, these Baltimore bars make it easy to celebrate, chant, and cheer on the Ravens all season long.

Tipsy Tailgates

Mother’s Grille: Mother’s Purple Patio hosts a rowdy party for every Sunday Ravens game. The festive outdoor area is painted like a football field, and the space hosts two bars, a huge grill, and 20 HD TVs so you can be sure not to miss any of the game-time magic. And with $35 all-you-can-drink Bloody Marys, crushes, and beers along with an assortment of on-the-grill classics, this purple party isn’t one you’ll want to miss. 1113 S Charles St., 410-244-8686

Jimmy’s Seafood: Dubbed “America’s Best Tailgate”, Jimmy’s Famous Seafood has everything a Ravens fan needs to make the most of game day this season. Buy tickets for each game (prices vary) or buy a VIP season pass (10 games for $350) and get access to a three-hour open bar, a live DJ spinning the hottest tracks, beer pong, giant Jenga, corn hole, and tons of free swag. Don’t miss the full buffet catered by the restaurant’s beloved Chef Tony. The best part? The party is just one block away from M&T Bank Stadium. 1300 Russell St.

BMore Around Town: This Baltimore tailgate has it all: An extensive open bar, BBQ meats, homemade sides, a “Mother Shucker” Oyster Bar, and live entertainment. And there’s also tons of tailgate games and giveaways. You can grab a VIP pass for $250 that’ll give you access to the eight home game events as well as the annual Adam Jones #StayHungry Purple Tailgate. So don your festive purple gear and join the party alongside Baltimore’s biggest fans. 152 W Ostend St., 410-276-6030

Game Day Grub

Grotto Pizza: Though many locals associate Grotto with the beach, check out the Columbia location for game-day specials, featuring a personal cheese pizza for $6, loaded nachos for $6.99, a pulled chicken BBQ sandwich for $7.99, soft pretzel sticks for $6.99, and a hot dog topped with Grotto Pizza’s award-winning chili for only $5.99. And with a long wooden bar perfect for large groups, you’ll get a chance to bring the party while escaping the stadium crowds. 7075 Minstrel Way, 443-583-8200

Fish Head Cantina: With $2.50 Natty Boh drafts and cans, $2.75 domestic bottles and drafts, $3.50 Coronas, $4 craft drafts, and $5 crushes, this Arbutus tiki bar is a neighborhood favorite. Plus, the entire pub and sushi menus are 25 percent off, so you can get your foodie fill without missing a moment. 4802 Benson Ave, Halethorpe, 410-247-2474

Ristorante Firenze: Equipped with fire pits, live music, bocce ball, and corn hole, this Reisterstown restaurant’s newly opened Peroni Beer Garden is a great place to watch the action unfold this football season. On September 13th, you can tailgate the day away from 5-7 p.m. with live music, grilling, and $3.75 Miller Lites. And if you’re feeling particularly festive, order the $4 purple punch and cocktail shooters. Fans can pair these drinks with classic Italian dishes like the Tre Formaggi pizza or Gemelli Margherita pasta. 2 Hanover Rd., 410-394-5577

Dogwatch Tavern: Pull up a chair at this Fells Point sports bar and grab $7 wings, $5 22-oz. Miller Lite drafts, and $15 Miller Lite and Coors Light buckets. Or, if you think you can handle it, try one the bar’s signature 100-oz. beer towers for $20. And during the commercial breaks, you can challenge a friend to a game of pool, beer pong, or Skee-Ball. 709 S. Broadway, 410-276-6030

Southern Provisions: Grab a group of friends and head to this Canton restaurant to indulge in crispy Southern fare mixed with good ole’ game-watching classics. Try the Bucket o’ Beer and Chicken sliders (five beers with four Nashville chicken sliders) for $20, the Brisket Chili Bowl served with cornbread for $7, along with deals on mozzarella sticks, hotdogs, pull pork tacos, and SpPro nachos. 3000 O’Donnell St., 410-675-4029

Wit & Wisdom: There’s no better place to watch the Ravens in style than at Wit & Wisdom inside the Four Seasons Baltimore. They’ll be serving up a special “Game Day Dog”, topped with caramelized onions, chipotle ketchup, brown sugar mustard, pickled fresno peppers, and tobacco fried onions, and a special purple and orange Corvus Crush. This upscale bar takes game day grub to a whole new level. 200 International Dr., 410-576-5800

Italian Disco: Equipped with multiple flat screens, a lengthy draft list, and tons of game-day snacks (always order the mozzarella sticks), this Harbor East hangout is an ideal bird-watching spot. During every Ravens game, the bar will offer $10 pitchers of domestic beers, $8 pizzas (pepperoni, margherita, or primavera), and $8 orders of wings. 1006 Fleet St. 410-605-0444

Banging Bars

Hightopps Backstage Grille: Grab your bird-watching gear and check out Hightopps Backstage Grille every Friday for some serious drink deals. Sip on $1 Miller Lite and Coors Light drafts, and $2 Blue Moon drafts while relaxing on the bar’s signature outdoor deck. Or, you can indulge in the A.C. and catch the game from the numerous bars inside. 2306 York Road, Timonium, 410-560-7101

Looney’s Pub: This Canton Square bar has some of Baltimore’s best pub fare. And when paired with its can’t-beat drink specials, Looney’s hosts some of Baltimore’s craziest fans. Get your game-day on with $12 Orange Crush buckets, $5 Maryland craft beers, $3.75 Bud Light drafts, and $3.50 12-oz. Miller Lite or Coors Light bottles. Fans can take advantage of these boozy deals while filling up on orders of Crabby Fries, Looney’s Bang N’ Shrimp, and BBQ Pork Sliders. 2900 O’Donnell Street, 410-675-9235

Charles Village Pub & Patio: Get your Sunday Funday started for only $11.99 with bottomless Blood Marys, mimosas, and Natty Boh drafts from 10 a.m.-2 p.m. This multi-level Towson hangout has flat screen TVs on virtually every wall, making it an ideal place to bring your buddies to watch the game. So pull up a bar stool and enjoy the bottomless drinks all game long—this Ravens nest is sure to get rowdy. 19 West Pennsylvania Ave., 410-821-8155

Alexander’s Tavern: You can’t go wrong bringing a group of buddies to cheer on the Ravens at this Fells Point staple. This season, get Bloody Marys, mimosas, and screwdrivers for $3.50 each or choose to do it big with $15 bottomless every Sunday. And if you’re a firm believer that real fans watch football with beers in hand, Alexander’s also offers $15 microbrew buckets. 710 South Broadway, 410-522-0000

Kisling’s Tavern: Kisling’s is celebrating football season with 22-oz. Orange Crushes for $6 whenever the Ravens play. Catch the game on one of their numerous TVs and be ready to cheer whenever the Ravens score a touchdown. And no trip to Kisling’s would be complete without an order of its famous chicken wings, made with their signature Buffalo sauce and Parmesan coating. 2100 Fleet Street, 410-327-5477

Mt. Washington Tavern: With $2 Narraganset Lager cans, $4 Old Hilltop drafts, and $6 Tito’s vodka drinks, this neighborhood bar is popular for Ravens fans. And here, bar fare is taken to the next level: Try the $15 loaded nachos or the $8 slow roasted Buffalo wings. Hang on the outdoor patio or stay inside and meet other fans at the bar. 5700 Newbury St., 410-367-6903

JD’s Smokehouse: If you haven’t had a chance to check out this bar’s new Canton location, this football season is the perfect opportunity. Swing by JD’s every Sunday for game-day happy hour from 2-7 p.m., featuring $2 domestic bottles, $2 off all craft drafts, $3 rail drinks, and $4 glasses of wine. Other specials include $2 off decadent appetizers like the Smokehouse Nachos, onion rings, or baskets of hush puppies. 623 S. Luzerne Ave., 410-522-2266

Game Sports Bar: This verifiable adult playground is known for its collection and variety of games. But with 20 TVs and jaw-dropping drink deals like $3 Coors Light and Miller Lite, $4 Malibu cocktails, $6 Absolut cocktails, $10 Orange Crush buckets, and $10 32-oz. Natty Boh drafts every home game, this bar is conveniently located right near the stadium. Plus, there’s no better way to cheer on the Ravens than with a room full of hyper-competitive, game-loving fans. 1400 Warner Street, 410-385-0100

Football season is finally here, and the biggest question—aside from “Who’s going to win?”—is “What am I going to wear?” Whether you’re cheering on your favorite team from the stadium or from home, show off your team spirit with these sporty and trending trappings.

Clockwise from top right: Black baseball hat ($12.99) at Target. Route One Apparel Natty Boh football scarf ($25) at Baltimore in a Box. Compagine De Provence hand cream ($9) at South Moon Under. DL1961 Margaux instasculpt jeans ($188) at Sassanova. Holly transparent mini backpack ($47) at Tobi. NFL sneakers ($39.99) at Target. Plastic Solo cups ($6.49) at Target. SPF 30 original sunscreen lotion ($9.99) at trustthebum.com. Route One Apparel Ravens, Bohs, Crabs, and O’s shirt ($27.99) at Route One Apparel. Sunglasses ($20) at South Moon Under. Iridescent card lanyard ($7.99) at Target.

Two months after Maryland football player Jordan McNair died and only a few days after more details emerged about the circumstances, University of Maryland president Wallace Loh took to a podium in College Park on Tuesday and said the school accepted “legal and moral responsibility” for McNair’s death.

The 19-year-old redshirt freshman from Randallstown, who also played at McDonogh, passed away June 13 at the university’s shock trauma center in Baltimore, two weeks after suffering heatstroke during a football team workout, according to his family.

Questions have swirled since—mainly how and why?

And an ESPN report Friday, citing former staffers and current and former players, pointed to a “toxic culture” at Maryland under third-year coach D.J. Durkin—and particularly mental and physical abuse by strength and conditioning coach Rick Court. Court resigned on Monday.

Meanwhile, Durkin has been put on leave along with members of the Terps’ training staff pending the results of an external investigation due to be completed by mid-September.

The full picture of what exactly happened during and after the May 29 workout is now only known to those who were there on the partly cloudy 80-degree late afternoon. But Loh was confident enough to share straightforwardly on Tuesday that trainers “basically misdiagnosed the situation,” in which the 6-foot-4, 325-pound McNair became exhausted during a series of 110-yard conditioning sprints.

No vital signs were taken, nor was McNair treated with cold water immersion, a standard best practice in heat illness treatment, Maryland athletic director Damon Evans said during his remarks following Loh’s.

After the outdoor workout, McNair had been first transported to the team’s practice facility. An hour later, after 911 was called, he was then airlifted to Maryland Shock Trauma, where the lawyers representing the family say he was admitted with a 106-degree fever. McNair later received a liver transplant in an effort to save his life.

He is survived by his parents, Marty McNair and Tonya Wilson, who last month launched a foundation in their son’s name, aimed at educating the athletic community about heat-related illness.

“Our plans did not include his death. Our plans included something more. Our plans included him,” Marty McNair wrote in a letter posted on the foundation’s website, which describes Jordan, who also played basketball as a kid, as “a quiet spirit, whose size never went unnoticed in any room, but whose spirit took up the entire room.”

Loh and Evans traveled to Baltimore on Tuesday to share culpability in his death.

“The university owes you an apology,” Loh said, and he told the media Tuesday, “The university accepts legal and moral responsibility for the mistakes that our training staff made on that fateful workout day.”

As for the circumstances, anyone who’s played in or watched an organized football practice knows grueling workouts and stern coaches can be a regular occurrence. The ESPN report, however, described a culture of excess intimidation where belittling and embarrassment has been common, including one player having had a meal slapped out of his hands and demeaning verbal abuse, for instance.

One unnamed current player said after the team opened preseason training camp on August 3, the attitude of the coaching staff in practice had returned as if “nothing’s really changed” after McNair’s death. “Have these guys learned their lesson?”

“You can motivate people, push them to the limit, without engaging in bullying behavior,” Loh said.

Asked how much responsibility falls on Durkin, who had described Court as “his most important hire” upon taking over the Maryland program in 2016, Evans said, “We have to take a look at that.” And he cited the external review being done by Rod Walters, a university-hired, longtime athletic trainer.

Let’s not forget this is a state public university, one which joined the Big Ten conference in 2014 in an effort to boost its revenue and profile, with football as the central vehicle.

Durkin is a disciple of Michigan coach Jim Harbaugh (Ravens coach John’s brother). He was a splashy hire, made following the departure of Randy Edsall, who former players have similarly criticized for leading a poor culture.

Edsall was the coach who offered McNair a scholarship out of McDonogh, and athletic trainer Wes Robinson and director of athletic training Steve Nordwall, reportedly the trainers placed on leave, worked under Edsall during his tenure in College Park. Court arrived with Durkin.

Court reportedly will receive $315,000 as part of his dismissal, and a large settlement figures to be headed to the McNair family, whose lawyers had previously planned to pursue either a state or federal lawsuit.

“You entrusted Jordan to our care and he is never returning home again,” Loh said he told McNair’s parents. “I’m committed to doing the right thing, but nothing that we do can bring closure to their enormous loss.”

“While Marty and Tonya will never get another day with Jordan,” said Hassan Murphy, a managing partner at the law firm of Murphy, Falcon & Murphy, which represented the family of Freddie Gray after his death in police custody. “Dr. Loh’s words were meaningful to them and give them some comfort that he will put the university on the path to change the culture of the program so that no Terrapin family will have to endure the heartache and grief that they feel.”

As if one Flacco wasn’t enough for us to constantly talk about, Baltimore is getting another. And he plays quarterback, too.

Tom Flacco, 10 years younger than his Super Bowl-winning brother, Joe, is transferring to Towson to play football this fall, in search of playing time he’s been unable to find at two previous college stops.

Flacco graduated from Rutgers in May with a degree in labor and employment relations, but he still has two years of college athletic eligibility left after sitting out the 2017 season and transferring from Western Michigan. He was a walk-on at Rutgers and showed promise in a crowded quarterback battle this spring before deciding to leave for an opportunity at Towson. Tigers coach Rob Ambrose confirmed the move late last month.

This Flacco, the youngest of Joe’s four brothers, is a little bit different than the one we know, according to Kirk Ciarrocca, who coached Joe at Delaware and Tom at Western Michigan. First off, Tom’s listed at 6-foot-1 and 185 pounds and was drafted by the Philadelphia Phillies while he was a high school senior at Eastern (New Jersey), where he was a three-sport star and one of the most decorated quarterbacks in the region’s history. He runs around a bit more than his older brother, and shows, ahem, a bit more emotion.

“At times, [Tom will] make me smile because I’ll think, ‘Golly, are these guys different’,” Ciarrocca said. “Tom is much more outgoing than Joe was. He’s much more competitive. His reactions to things are much different than his brother’s. They’re just two totally different people. They’re both great men and are awesome to coach, but they’re totally different people.”

They look a little different, too. Here’s one and the other. If you spot them together at The Food Market, Miss Shirley’s, or Blue Moon Café—a few of the Ravens quarterback’s top dining spots—you’ll notice the difference.

Younger bro threw for 188 total yards and average 8.6 yards per carry in limited playing time during two seasons at Western Michigan. How often will he see time on Johnny Unitas Stadium field? Flacco Part II obviously hasn’t moved here to sit the bench, but he will compete with returning starter, sophomore Ryan Stover (no, not Matt’s son), and an incoming freshman. Towson, entering its 50th season of football, is looking to improve off last year’s 5-6 record and seventh-place finish in the Colonial Athletic Association. The Tigers open the season Sept. 1 at Morgan State.

Meanwhile, the 33-year-old Joe is also looking for a rebound season, amid the Ravens signings of a few other new QBs: former Redskins starter Robert Griffin III and rookie Lamar Jackson.

In the meantime, here’s some high school glory days tape of Tom Flacco until we get some of him in black and gold this football season:

There are a few things that define summer in the city: snowballs, swimming pools, and summer camps. For the third year in a row, Baltimore native and New York Jets linebacker Brandon Copeland is bringing his football camp back to Gilman this weekend.

The Beyond the Basics football camp is run by Copeland, his wife Taylor, and family and friends to give back to the community that helped shape him into the man he is today. With the support of the NFLPA, beginning at 8 a.m. on Saturday, July 7, more than 400 kids will flock to Gilman’s Roland Park campus to participate in a day of football drills, community service, and mentorship.

Copeland says that the camp goes beyond football. He wants to make this day more meaningful to the kids than just running routes, catching passes, and going over drills.

“For us, it’s not about football at all—I really could care less about the football part,” Copeland said. “We really have some messages and exposure to help kids activate and understand their potential for success in this world.”

Never having attended a football camp growing up, Copeland drew inspiration from helping out his teammates at theirs and wanting to create something he always wanted as a kid. Since its inception, the camp has seen a steady growth in attendance from every part of Baltimore City and County.

Last year, nearly 300 kids attended the camp and, this year, he’s expecting 100 more. Although the camp is free, it’s reserved for kids ages 11-17 who are excelling in school and Copeland actually requires registrants to bring copies of their reports cards and transcripts. Some students will receive laptops and Kindles to help them further excel academically.

“We want to make sure we’re equipping these kids with the necessary tools to be successful,” Copeland said. “If a laptop can help them study for the SATs or write that college essay, we’re more than happy to help.”

A big aspect of the camp also focuses on community service and the importance of giving back. For the first hour, kids will be split into two groups—the first group will be packing backpacks and the second will be packing toiletry kits. Each of the items will be donated to the Franciscan Center of Baltimore that provides emergency assistance to residents who are struggling economically.

“How cool is it for an 11-year-old that you just built a book bag that will benefit another kid in need,” he said. “We want to teach them that you can be a blessing to someone else even if you’re young and broke. Spending your time doing something meaningful can benefit someone else.”

Copeland also stresses the importance of having a backup plan while pursuing a professional sports career. After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania, the linebacker spent his time working as a part-time analyst for Weiss Multi Strategy Advisers during the NFL off-season. He and his wife have also ventured into the world of real estate, most recently flipping a home in Baltimore.

“I’m always sharing career options and goals outside of football with the kids,” he said. “Anything can happen. It’s not a crime to also enjoy law, and literature, and design. You have more time in your life not playing football than you do actually playing. You need to find something to do with the rest of your life.”

Although registration is officially closed, Copeland allows walk-ons because he says that he has a hard time turning kids away. His goal is to bring something to the kids that will help to shape them into successful athletes and, more importantly, well-rounded people.

“We don’t want to lose the reason we started doing this,” he said. “We want to positively affect these kids and expose them to other opportunities and professions and role models that look like them. If we can’t do that, we’ve ultimately failed as a camp.”

From his first days as Ravens head coach, Brian Billick knew there was something different about Ray Lewis.

It wasn’t the way this 6-foot-1, 240-pound freak of nature could roam gracefully from sideline to sideline, then focus like a laser on his target and deliver a bone-rattling hit. No, Billick had already seen Lewis do that. Billick had been the offensive coordinator for the Minnesota Vikings when they played against Lewis and the Ravens in 1998. Billick had already studied Lewis and devised a game plan to account for him.

But upon joining the Ravens in 1999, Billick was most struck by something that never showed up in the box score.

“It was shocking to me,” Billick said, “coming to the Ravens and seeing again and again how readily the veterans, and I’m talking guys like Rod Woodson, future Hall of Famer . . . how readily they gave themselves over to Ray’s leadership.”

Other contributors include O.J. Brigance, Haloti Ngata, Jonathan Ogden, Ed Reed, Chuck Pagano, Rex Ryan, Jerome Bettis, Eddie George, and many more. Read all 52 memories of No. 52 at PressBoxOnline.com/Ray.

History to be made at Poly-City game.
On Saturday at M&T Bank Stadium, Jacey Lee, 16, a junior at Baltimore Polytechnic Institute, will become the first girl to take the field in the school’s 129-year football rivalry with Baltimore City College. She initially joined Poly’s JV team after her stepbrother invited her to come practice with him, and Lee is the first girl to ever make varsity. Lee is 5-foot-4 and plays defensive tackle. “I like hitting,” she told The Sun. “As soon as I get off, somebody is in my face. I either got to push them, or they push me.”

Joe’s back—again.
It’s hard to believe, but a little over a week since he took a violent hit to the head that left him concussed, Joe Flacco says he’s ready to play Sunday when the Ravens face the Tennessee Titans in Nashville. Flacco went through the NFL’s concussion protocol and was cleared to practice fully on Wednesday, albeit with stitches covered with tape on his left ear, where his helmet was ripped off by Miami Dolphins linebacker Kiko Alonso last Thursday night. Offensive coordinator Marty Mornhinweg joked with reporters yesterday that Flacco should have used his stitches to scare kids on Halloween. Joe Cool predictably didn’t, but he did post a throwback photo from 1995 in which a Frankenstein did appear.

WWE rolls through Royal Farms.
It’s not really a sport, though maybe there’s still some out there that think pro wrestling is real and not scripted. Anyway, WWE Raw made a stop at Royal Farms Arena on Monday Night. The highlight in wrestling circles was Samoa Joe’s return to the ring, and it seems like everyone had a good time.

Maryland women’s basketball picked second in Big Ten.
What?! The Big Ten coaches and media picked the defending conference champion Terps to finish second in the league, behind Ohio State. Though they might be in a rebuild mode, after losing two All-Americans and seeing a National Freshman of the Year transfer, consider it motivation for one of the area’s top programs in any sport. Maryland begins the season next Friday against Albany.

The Astros give us hope . . .
The smaller-market team formerly known as the Houston “Lastros” (for obvious reasons) won the World Series on Wednesday night in Game 7 against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Three years ago, in a prophetic cover, Sports Illustrated featured eventual World Series MVP George Springer alongside the headline “Your 2017 World Series Champs,” referencing the idea that the Astros were building the game’s “next big thing,” with a blend of old-fashioned scouting and new-age statistical analytics. It might be a bit of a stretch to see our Orioles in the same light, but the Astros should at least give us some inspiration that a championship-caliber team can be built in short time. You heard it here first: O’s in 2020.

And if we needed more optimism and feel good-vibes going into the weekend, Astros shortstop Carlos Correa proposed to his girlfriend Daniella Rodriguez right after his team took the national title. Good luck topping that, every other guy on the planet.

Randy McKamey still keeps a recording of the phone call. On it, his son Will, then a plebe at the United States Naval Academy, is discussing his new coach, Ken Niumatalolo. “The first words out of his mouth were, ‘Dad, he gets it,’” McKamey recalls. “He said, ‘He doesn’t just know my name, he knows everybody’s name. He’s the real deal.’ At that moment, I was so relieved that he had a father figure coaching him. A guy that cared.” Just how invested Niumatalolo was is something McKamey would tragically learn firsthand months later when Will, the oldest of his four children—“the heavenly one,” as his wife, Kara, now calls him—lay dying in a hospital room.

On March 22, 2014, their short, slight, but iron-willed son collapsed from an unusual brain hemorrhage—not linked to a bad hit or severe contact—during a practice in Annapolis. A day later, Niumatalolo, a devout Mormon, joined Randy and Kara by 19-year-old Will’s bedside at R Adams Cowley Shock Trauma Center at the University of Maryland Medical Center in Baltimore, where they prayed.

“We had a little bit of a ceremonial event with just me, Kara, and Kenny,” says Randy McKamey, a high school football coach in Tennessee. “It [reinforced] to me that Will had been in the right place the entire time, with a God-fearing man. Things don’t begin and end with football; there’s more to life than that.”

This, Ken Niumatalolo has always known.

Lots of coaches throw around terms like “family” and “student-athlete” as casually as they drop f-bombs, but few have established a track record of backing them up like Niumatalolo. With a record of 77-42, he is Navy’s all-time winningest coach. Scan the list of finalists for The Dodd Trophy, given to the national college coach of the year, for the past two seasons and you’ll find his name is the only one to appear twice. All of which makes his perspective on his famously life-consuming profession that much more intriguing.  

“I’m very grateful to be the head football coach here, but this job isn’t everything to me,” he says. “It doesn’t define who I am.”

First and foremost, Niumatalolo says, his life is built around his relationships with his wife, his three children, and his faith. But his legacy also can be found in the character of his players, who, after finishing their collegiate careers, graduate not to fame and fortune in the NFL, but to military service around the world.

“What Coach Ken does is hard,” says J.D. Gainey, commanding officer of USS Hopper, a guided-missile destroyer. Niumatalolo was an assistant coach at Navy when Gainey played offensive line in the mid-1990s. “Coaching 18- to 22-year-olds whose performance directly impacts your life and family, getting them to choose right in the face of adversity, hardship, and fatigue, is hard to do. Motivating these kids to bring it as hard as they can daily, as well as asking for unconditional trust in all decisions made for the program, is really tough. I didn’t realize it until I was in the same situation with 300 sailors and a 9,000-ton destroyer under my care.”

It has been an unlikely journey for a man born in American Samoa and raised in Laie, on the northeastern shore of Oahu, Hawaii’s third-largest island, where the waves break high and the stress stays low. Niumatalolo never aspired to lead a big-time college football program. But fate—or a higher power—had other plans for him.

From his earliest days as a not-quite-good-enough quarterback at the University of Hawai’i, Niumatalolo has been an analytical kind of guy. Basketball was his first love, but he was a bit too short and a step too slow for the sport. As a backup QB in college, he grew frustrated with his lack of playing time.

“I decided that instead of coming to meetings with a bad attitude, I might as well learn something,” he says.

So he dedicated himself to understanding the intricacies of the game, and the offensive coordinator at UH, Paul Johnson, took note. After Niumatalolo earned his degree in communications, Johnson offered him a low-paying position as a graduate assistant. Already married to his college sweetheart Barbara, Niumatalolo took it, and vowed to get a “real job” in two years if it didn’t work out. He has been coaching ever since.

“He was always a smart guy, and he grasped the concepts of the offense,” says Johnson, who brought Niumatalolo with him to Annapolis when he became Navy’s offensive coordinator. “When you’re looking for coaches, you want good people. He’s got a self-confidence, he is a man of strong faith, and I think that leads him in most of everything he does.”

When Johnson left Navy in 1997, Niumatalolo was elevated to offensive coordinator under Charlie Weatherbie. It was not a smooth transition.

“Charlie and I didn’t see eye-to-eye,” he says. Then, with a typically blunt assessment he adds, “I got fired from here because I opened my mouth too much. I needed to learn to shut my mouth.”

Where else could Niumatalolo have an impact on the lives of young men—not just their football careers—like he can at Navy?

Niumatalolo landed at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, where he saw how the rest of the college football world lived.

“Maybe the guys are a little bigger and faster, but there are different character kids,” he says. “Not to say that all the kids at UNLV are bad, that would be wrong, because there are a lot of good kids there. But here, just the military part—shining your shoes, shaving every day [is a significant difference]. You’re not taking Mickey Mouse courses so you can stay eligible. You’re taking what everybody else is taking, and the workload is grueling. If you’ve got a paper due on Thursday and we’re playing Notre Dame, guess what, you’ve got to turn in your paper. It’s not like that everywhere.”

Johnson came back to Annapolis as head coach in 2002, and he hired Niumatalolo to direct the offensive line. Six years later, Johnson wanted to see how his vaunted triple option offense (which Niumatalolo still employs) would work at a larger program with more resources and less anchors—so to speak—than Navy, so he departed for Georgia Tech. Niumatalolo was named head coach.

Now, almost a decade later, the question arises: Is moving to a football program in a bigger conference an interest that dogs Niumatalolo?

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it,” he says. “That’s why I tell parents and recruits that if there’s a job opportunity that I feel is better for my family, I feel I owe it to my family to listen. Last year, I talked to Cal. I’m from Hawaii, so I thought I’d be interested in the West Coast, but it wasn’t the right fit for either one of us, so it didn’t work out. It’s going to take something really special for me to leave here because this is a special place.”

Navy fans feared that opportunity presented itself after the 2015 season, when Niumatalolo was courted by Brigham Young University. Coaching at the Mormon school would be not just a job, but a calling.

“I was very interested,” he says. “It came down to some technicalities. It wasn’t formally offered because there were some things I wasn’t willing to budge on. I’ve got a great job. I love it here. I’m not looking to just jump to jump. The grass isn’t always greener.”

Where else could Niumatalolo have an impact on the lives of young men—not just their football careers—like he can at Navy? Consider not just the comfort he provided to the McKameys in the wake of their son’s unimaginable death, but the impact he has had on people like his former player and newest assistant coach, Bryce McDonald.

“I actually took some of the stuff he did as a coach and employed it in the way I taught marine tactics,” says McDonald, who retired from the Marines Corps in 2012 as a captain. “He always used to do walk-throughs, and he wouldn’t go onto the next coaching point until everyone understood. Some teachers will just talk and talk and hope you absorb something. The way he taught was a two-way dialogue. He made people think. I used that to teach ambush and patrol tactics. You’d be in a classroom environment but no one’s sitting down, they’re actually standing in formation and giving feedback.”

During spring practice, Niumatalolo’s days begin in the same place where so many of ours do: the bathroom. When he gets to work around 5 a.m., his first stop is the private one inside his office suite on the third floor of Ricketts Hall. There, he kneels on the floor, prays, and reads scripture.

As part of his faith, he doesn’t come in on Sundays, and his staff stays home as well—a rarity in college football. (That said, between his church obligations, family time, and an occasional nap, he generally finds time to watch film of his team on weekends during the season. He’s usually at the office by 3:30 a.m. on Mondays.) He has never had as much as a sip of alcohol, and although he can’t say he has never cursed—“I’m human”—when he’s angry the worst thing you’ll hear coming out of his mouth is a torrent of “dadgummits.”

“I just don’t believe that you need to ‘MF’ a kid to motivate him,” he says. “You can be firm and demanding and get after him, but I don’t think you need to belittle people. I have two sons that are playing college football, and a lot of our coaches have sons. I tell my guys, ‘Would you want your son being talked to like that by another coach?’”

But don’t let the outwardly laid-back Pacific-island vibe he exudes fool you—Niumatalolo is an intense competitor. Ask anyone who has played pick-up basketball or tennis with him. At a meeting in April, he sits at the head of a conference table watching video of the previous day’s practice surrounded by his coaching staff. His voice is calm, even understated, but his authority unquestionable.  

“Jiminy Christmas,” he grumbles when a quarterback throws an errant pass.

“Holy smokes, look at his hips,” he says of an offensive lineman. “He’s probably the worst tackle we have. I’d be petrified if I was a quarterback and he was protecting me.”

Coaches tend to see the football as half-deflated when they watch their own teams, and especially during spring ball, warts are plainly visible on film. But the criticism being bandied about is offered in pursuit of one objective: making each individual on his team better.

And not just as players.

“In a meeting we’ll go from talking about ‘John Smith’s’ play on the field to his grade in physics to where he’s at with his [Naval Academy] swim qualification,” says McDonald. “He sees the whole picture. He knows a parent has entrusted him with their son, so he is responsible for them.”

This has been a particularly intense off-season for Niumatalolo, in part because of the way last year ended. Navy dropped its final three games, and he’s working to understand why. The team was ravaged by injuries, so he’s focused on details as minute as practice surfaces, equipment, and shoes. At the meeting, he stresses to his position coaches to push hydration. Answers have been elusive thus far, but he won’t stop searching for them.

At a practice later that afternoon, Niumatalolo strolls around one of Navy’s fields as his team runs through meticulously calibrated drills. Wearing a Navy visor, a whistle hanging where his signature lei does during Army-Navy games, he’s greeting visiting coaches with hugs and a wide grin. In nearby Spa Creek, sailboats harness the perfect breeze; there’s not a cloud in the deep blue sky, and the grass under Niumatalolo’s feet is a rich shade of green.

Right now, there’s no place he’d rather be.

Jacoby Jones retires a Raven.
One of the heroes of the Ravens’ Super Bowl XLVII run will announce his retirement today at the team’s facility in Owings Mills. Time to cue up the video of that 109-yard kickoff return . . . (or him catching the Miracle at Mile High, or dodging Mike Tomlin on Thanksgiving and saying afterward—while eating a turkey leg in the locker room—that he should have ran into the Steelers’ coach.) I think we can all agree on that.

A controversy wrapped in the flag.
One day, most likely a long time from now, if at all, maybe everyone will step back, take a deep breath, and think. About what this last week—which began Sunday morning with images from London of a dozen Ravens players (and Ray Lewis) kneeling during the national anthem in protest of our president, and continued the last few days with heated debate about it – has really meant.

But, for now, we’re still in it. 

What exactly will happen this Sunday at M&T Bank Stadium? We know that at least a few new voices, a trio from the U.S. Air Force, will bellow, “O, say…” before kickoff. Reservoir Hill native Joey Odoms, the team’s anthem singer since 2014 and a former national guardsman, resigned from his post amid the ongoing controversy, saying he doesn’t feel welcome anymore, citing the negative reactions of some fans to the nationwide signs of unity among NFL players.

Emotions have been stirred in all corners, including from 65,000-plus who’ve signed a petition to take down Lewis’ statue at the stadium, though he said this week he wasn’t necessarily protesting, but praying. In any case, intent has been blurred, jerseys burned, listening seemingly stopped, and we’ve been forced to consider our opinions on the whole issue, even if we’d normally prefer to watch a pro football game to escape our problems and, of course, primarily to see the Ravens beat the Steelers again.

There’s always next year?
Well, after flirting with a playoff run until the last few weeks, the Orioles’ 64th season will end unceremoniously in Tampa Bay on Sunday, when they play their last game of the regular season. It’s not the type of year the O’s, or we, hoped for; they’ll finish with a losing record for the first time since 2011, Buck Showalter’s first full year as manager.

But the season did have its moments, like on a hot afternoon Sunday, in the Camden Yards finale, when too-often-injured fan favorite J…J…Hardy smacked a two-run homer in the fourth inning, after receiving a standing ovation in the first in what might be his last game wearing an O’s uniform here. That’s a nice way to go out!

Friday night lghts.

St. Frances Academy, the private school located on East Chase Street just off the Jones Falls Expressway, has a long history, as in more than 185 years’ worth as the first and oldest predominantly African-American Catholic school in the country. Its 2017 football team is now part of its story, too.

With a 28-7 win over Calvert Hall last Friday night, the Panthers, who finished 0-6 in the MIAA two years ago, improved to 4-0 overall and rose to No. 22 in the USA Today National Top 25, while remaining tied with DeMatha for the top spot in the state poll. We’ll have to see how the team fares against Loyola Blakefield this afternoon at 4 p.m.

If Ravens shutout Browns, they’ll break a 72-year-old NFL record.
Not to get greedy, but after watching the way the Ravens defense performed in week one in Cincinnati, we are more confident than ever going against the Cleveland Browns at home. And it turns out, if this Sunday’s game is another shutout, the Ravens will break a 72-year-old NFL record. According to ESPN Stats & Information, the last team to shutout its opponents during the first two games of the season was, ironically, the Cleveland Rams in 1945. If this all seems a little pie-in-the-sky, consider a few facts:

1. The game is at M&T Bank Stadium and the Ravens defense has allowed the NFL’s fewest points at home since John Harbaugh became coach in 2008.
2. DeShone Kizer, the Browns rookie quarterback, is making his first career debut. Godspeed, DeShone.
3. The Ravens held the Bengals scoreless on 12 drives last week, forcing a turnover every time Cincinnati got inside Baltimore’s 10-yard line
4. During the offseason, Browns’ head coach Hue Jackson himself called the Ravens defense “legendary.”

But the cornerstone of the defense, Terrell Suggs, who deflected a key pass last Sunday, says his strategy is to go into this week fresh. “As far as we are concerned, last week didn’t happen,” he told ESPN. “We are taking it as our first game, and of course, it is our first home game. It is our home opener. You kind of have to have a short memory. Because this is the NFL; your fate can change in a week. We are acting like last week was just a dream.”

Bizarre giveaway at M&T Bank Stadium this Sunday.
Speaking of the Ravens, this has to be one of the weirdest giveaways we’ve ever seen at a local sports game. Biotech firm Orig3n will be giving all fans that enter M&T Bank Stadium on Sunday free DNA test kits. Fans who opt to participate can learn about their genetic makeup in four different genes, but they first have to swab the inside of their cheek, drop the sample into a stadium bin, and register with the company online. Among the findings, fans will be able to discover if they are “generally predisposed” to have difficulty metabolizing Vitamin D.

While we personally think this is odd and invasive on many levels (though clever marketing for Boston-based Orig3n), the Ravens are calling it “one of the most innovative events a partner has ever spearheaded.” If you say so.

Maryland football off to impressive start.
When rumors swirled that Maryland was joining the Big 10, a lot of fans feared that our state football team wouldn’t be able to hold its own. A lot of those worries have been dissuaded so far this season, starting with a 51-41 Maryland win against the longhorns in Austin. In true Terp style, the victory didn’t come withouts  hiccups, including quarterback Tyrrell Pigrome (not even the planned starter) tearing his ACL.Thankfully, true freshman and big recruit Kasim Hill saved the day—earning 57 yards and punching in a three-yard run to put the Terrapins up by 10 with just over seven minutes left in the game.

Though Towson University football isn’t quite on the same level as UT, last week’s 63-17 victory over the Tigers was pretty amazing. (Sorry to our buddies on Osler Drive.) One of the key takeaways is just how impressive the Terps running game is. Against Towson, Maryland rushed for 367 yards and six touchdowns—and running backs averaged 10.2 yards-per-carry. Look for backs Ty Johnson, Lorenzo Harrison III, and Jake Funk to continue to excel—as well as wide receiver D.J. Moore to capitalize on Hill’s success as QB.

Cal Ripken Jr. will not be commentator during baseball playoffs. 
After some, ahem, lackluster reception, Turner Sports confirmed that Cal Ripken Jr. will not be returning to TBS’ Major League Baseball playoff broadcasts. Ripken started working with TBS in 2007 as a studio analyst, transition to game broadcasts in 2012, where he’s worked every post-season since. 

Despite his tenure, Ripken never seemed quite comfortable in the role. The Sun‘s TV critic David Zurawick wrote, “Ripken was sometimes silent for stretches of time, even after Ernie Johnson, TBS’ smooth play-by-play announcer, tried to tee it up for his analysis. Compared to MASN’s Jim Palmer, who is 15 years older, Ripken seemed somewhere between somnolent and comatose in this playoff series during the first two games.” For his part, Ripken acknowledged the learning curve, saying to Awful Announcing in 2016: “I get five or six, I think, of the Sunday games on TBS. So you kind of get back into the position. And over time there is an accumulation of your comfort level, but I could benefit by doing more reps where you could feel like it becomes second nature to you.”

Though it’s not his strongest suit, we will miss the familiar voice of Carl, I mean, Cal during the MLB playoffs.

We love Ravens Ronnie Stanley. And we love Lola.
Ravens linebacker Ronnie Stanley has made it no secret that he’s an animal lover. But there’s something about this recent Petco commercial that is particularly adorable. 

Back, back, back. Joe Flacco returns for Ravens opener.
The quarterback is back from his back issues. Catch the theme? After missing most of the preseason because of a lower back injury (which raised the possibility of the team signing the controversial Colin Kaepernick), Flacco returned to practice last weekend to start preparing for the Ravens’ season-opener on Sunday afternoon at Cincinnati. Still, his health status isn’t exactly clear.

“It’s good,” Flacco told reporters of the back in general, as well as “I honestly don’t know how I did it,” about how the injury happened. And, “I really don’t know the actual answer to that,” about if he feels vulnerable to re-injuring the back, for which he said a spine doctor told him rest was the best medicine.

This isn’t exactly an inspiring start to the season for the most important player on the Ravens’ roster, but, hey, there’s plenty else to be excited about as the new football year begins.

Can we have nine Manny Machados, please?
To quote Buck Showalter, “I like our guys,” but how can you not love Manny Machado at this point? He did it again this week, hitting his third walk-off home run in just 19 days (the shortest span since Sammy “Corked-Bat” Sosa did it in 1996). For extra dramatic effect, he hit it at 1 a.m. Wednesday to end a rain-delayed game against the Yankees, among the teams the Orioles are chasing for, yes, a still-possible playoff spot. (As of this writing, the O’s are two games behind Minnesota for the American League’s second and final wild card position.) 

Visiting fans from the north at Camden Yards serenaded our beloved Manny, the recently named A.L. Player of the Month for August, with chants of “Fu-ture Yank-ee,” and we sure as heck hope not. That’s a story for another day, though a few hours after Machado’s latest heroics The Big Leagues Daily’s Dan Clark started a tongue-in-cheek GoFundMe page (goal: $400 million), after getting more than 1,000 retweets in support of the idea, to show the world we want to keep the modern-day Brooks Robinson here. For now, let’s enjoy the Manny Magic, at the plate and in the field, as he and the rest of the once left-for-dead O’s (as in 4 percent chance to making the playoffs) keep their, and our, postseason baseball hopes alive.

Every (win) is bigger in Texas.
Especially when the University of Maryland football team is doing the winning. To start their season, the Terps, a three-touchdown underdog, pulled off a wild 51-41 win at preseason nationally-ranked Texas last Saturday afternoon. Despite losing starting quarterback Tyrrell Pigrome to a season-ending knee injury mid-game, Maryland notched one of the best victories in the program’s history, and certainly the biggest win of coach D.J. Durkin’s tenure, coming in the first game of his second season. 

#mood:

Up next, the Terps host Towson on Saturday, and, if you’re still on the fence about going, three words: Baltimore Cheese Steak. It’s the newest concession at Maryland Stadium, a “thinly sliced griddled rib eye steak, topped with a white cheese sauce blended with Old Bay and a touch of Sherry,” information important enough to include in a school press release. 

John Urschel fibbed — making him even smarter than we thought?
The recently retired former Ravens center and still math genius revealed on Freakonomics Radio that he was enrolled as a full-time Ph.D. student at MIT during the 2016 football season, and that the Ravens didn’t know. “I guess since I’m retired, I’m allowed to say, I was full-time, full-time,” he said.

Urschel took classes remotely and, for example, studied and worked on assignments on Sundays after games, during off day Mondays and before practice on Tuesdays. “I did not tell anyone this,” Urschel said. “Well, except MIT. But I don’t think an NFL team would be extremely happy to hear that I’m working towards my Ph.D. also in the fall.” Such was his (former) life in pro football. 

Serena Williams and fiancé Alexis Ohanian have baby girl.
We’re still waiting for pictures. C’mon People. But, seriously, congratulations to Ohanian, the Howard High alum and Reddit co-founder, and Williams, the greatest women’s tennis player of all time, on their firstborn, a six-pound, 13-ounce girl.

Kevin Plank seals MLB uniform deal at winter meetings.
Though it was confirmed in October that Under Armour will take over for Majestic Athletic as the official on-field uniform provider for Major League Baseball in 2020, the 10-year deal was inked on Monday at winter meetings. In the agreement, Under Armour will supply all 30 MLB clubs with uniforms for 10 years and its partner, Fanatics, will have licensing rights to manufacture and distribute gear.

According to The Baltimore Sun, Plank called the deal “a massive statement for our company. This deal for us is one where we really get to lock arms, dig our heels in and say we’re going to fight for this sport.”

MLB commissioner Rob Manfred is hoping that the UA deal will strike a chord with younger sports fans, getting them engaged in the game of baseball.

“When we started talking about this deal with the owners, one of the single biggest themes that came back from them was they wanted the game associated with a young brand,” Manfred said. “To grow the game with young people, you have to have athletes and products young people want to wear, and we think Under Armour is uniquely situated to provide those products.”

One major difference that the Baltimore-based athletic apparel company has already announced is that its logo will appear on the front of the uniforms, as opposed to the sleeves where Majestic was positioned. Some fans aren’t so happy about this move and one website, Uni Watch, did some quick PhotoShop work to envision what the future uniforms might look like.

Army vs. Navy game this weekend will host a special guest.
In a tradition dating back to 1901, President-elect Donald Trump is scheduled to attend the 117th Army-Navy football game at M&T Bank Stadium on Saturday. “In keeping with a time-honored tradition, he will spend half of the game on the Army side and then half on the Navy side, who will win their 15th straight game, I’m sure,” Sean Spicer, communications director for the Republican National Committee (and a member of the Navy Reserves since 1999), told The Washington Post.

Though presidents from Theodore Roosevelt and Harry Truman to John F. Kennedy up through Barack Obama have watched the two military rivals face off, this is the first time in which a President-elect has attended the game.

We’re wondering if President-elect Trump has heard the news that the Baltimore City Council voted unanimously to condemn statements made by him in the council’s first official act. The resolution formally opposed Trump’s “divisive and scapegoating rhetoric, rooted in hate and prejudice.”

Can we say awkward?

Six decades ago—right about this time of the year back in 1956—an unknown rookie quarterback named Johnny Unitas walked onto the gridiron of Baltimore’s consciousness.

And he never left. Not today, some 14 years after his death nor more than 30 after the team with which he is synonymous—the famed and fabled Baltimore Colts—quit town for some obscure Midwestern burg.

Unitas was perfectly in tune with the psyche of the unsung factory town on the Patapsco in which he set records, won trophies, and made lifelong friends.

“I came into the league without any fuss. I’d just as soon leave it that way,” he said upon leaving the game in 1973 en-route to the Hall of Fame. “There’s no difference I can see in retiring from pro football or quitting a job at the Pennsy Railroad. I did something I wanted to do and went as far as I could go.”

Unitas’s debut in 1956—the tectonic plates of American football about to shift though no one knew it—has been dramatically misremembered for decades. Even Unitas was wrong, going to his grave in 2002 believing it had been one way when it was another.

Jim “Snuffy” Smith, 73, a longtime Baltimore area basketball coach and fervent fan of all Crabtown sports, tells it like this.

“I was 13 and watching the Colts play the Bears at Wrigley Field. The Colts weren’t good yet,” said Smith of the game, in which Chicago crushes Baltimore 58 to 27. In that game, starting quarterback George Shaw broke his leg and out came a young Lithuanian-Catholic from Pittsburgh wearing No. 19, his scrawny right arm not yet cast in gold.

“Unitas was forced into the game and we didn’t know a thing about him, a skinny kid with stooped shoulders who walked like an 80-year-old man,” said Smith. “His first pass was intercepted for a touchdown and the rest is history.”

Yes, history, lots of it. Unitas quarterbacked the Colts victory over the New York Giants in the 1958 “Greatest Game Ever Played” championship and was a member of two other Baltimore title teams.

But Smith’s version history—the same one Unitas believed up until his fatal heart attack—jumps the gun by two games.

In 2006, veteran Baltimore Sun reporter Mike Klingaman set the record straight, pointing out that the first time the locals got a glimpse of Unitas under center was not via television from Chicago on October 21, but in front of 42,622 fans at Memorial Stadium on October 6.

The Colts lost that game as well, 31 to 14 to Detroit. But Johnny U was launched, right about the time Brooks Robinson was going gold at third base for baseball’s Orioles, and Baltimore would never be the same.

Late in the life of Johnny Unitas, the children from his second marriage played a lot of community and school sports in and around Baltimore County. At one lacrosse game in the 1990s, Hampden resident Joe Mooney had a daughter in a game against a member of the Unitas progeny.

Mooney grew up going to Colts games with his parents in the 1960s and, like thousands of other kids back then, had Johnny U’s autograph and pictures on his bedroom wall.

“He was critical of the refs whenever he felt like it,” said Mooney, 63. “All I could think of was, ‘What must that be like for [a small-time] lacrosse refs to get chewed out by Johnny Unitas?’”

After the game, Mooney walked over to the other team’s side and asked if he could shake the hand that had thrown 290 touchdowns in an 18-year professional career, all but one of them in Baltimore.

Remembers Mooney: “I said, ‘Do you mind?’ And he said, ‘Not at all.’”

The hand that Mooney shook was the first to throw for more than 40,000 career yards. In 1959, he set a record with 32 touchdowns, the first to throw more than 30 in a season. Between 1956 and 1960, he threw a touchdown in 47 consecutive games, a feat once compared to Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak.

All of those National Football League statistics have been broken by bigger and faster athletes who now play 16-game seasons and are aided by rules designed to protect the quarterback from injury.

Yet the aura of Unitas permeate the metropolitan area not unlike, we daresay, that of Babe Ruth.

From the Beltway sign announcing the exit for “Unitas Stadium” at Towson University to the statue of Unitas outside of M&T Bank Stadium to the flurry of blue and white No. 19 jerseys at Ravens’ home games, he is here.

“He’s the foundation of Ravens football,” said Jimmy Rupert, a 30-year-old Pasadena realtor born the year after the Colts left town. “Growing up watching football with my father and grandfather that’s all I ever heard about—Johnny Unitas, the guy who put up the big numbers.”

Rupert goes to at least two Ravens games a year, sometimes more. Before each game, he joins fellow pigskin pilgrims in touching the one of the Johnny U statue’s high-topped cleats, now discolored from years of the tradition.

He does it, he said, “For good luck.”

This is certainly not the big money world of college football. The 834 fans at Homewood Field who watched Johns Hopkins’ 52-20 rout of Western New England on Saturday afternoon in the first round of the NCAA Division-III playoffs attest to that.

So does the two hours and 34 minutes of real time it took for the nation’s sixth-ranked Division-III team to handle business against a top-20 opponent. There were no television timeouts or pre-packaged, in-game entertainment, unless you count what happened on the field. By the end of the first quarter, the Blue Jays led by two touchdowns and were on their way to a 38-0 halftime lead.

This is the best local football team you’ve never seen.

Jim Margraff, who decades ago played quarterback for Hopkins, lives in Timonium and is in his 26th season as head coach. The undefeated Blue Jays are in the second round of the 32-team tournament for the third time in four years. They host Wesley College (10-1) at noon this Saturday, November 28. A win would mark their 12th this fall, a program record, and match its deepest playoff run ever.

“We’re excited about it,” Margraff said Saturday. “When the year is over, you look back and reflect and maybe count things up, but right now we’re going to enjoy this one tonight and get ready for next week.”

So, how does this happen? Five-foot-six, 175-pound senior running back Brandon Cherry, who went to Boys’ Latin and has more than 2,500 collegiate rushing yards to his name, points to the program’s recruiting approach. Division-III football teams cannot offer athletic scholarships or likely NFL careers and generally lack the resources to recruit nationally, but a glance at the Blue Jays reflects the opposite: 88 players from 23 states, and only four from Maryland. Not even Mount Union (Ohio) and Wisconsin-Whitewater, winners of the last 10 D-III national championships, can boast such geographic diversity. Should Johns Hopkins win Saturday, a potential game against Mount Union awaits in the quarterfinals.

“You look at other teams and you don’t see the type of talent the coaches are able to recruit,” Cherry said. “It’s kind of crazy. With the SAT and GPA requirements here, it’s hard to find people who match that and are good players at the same time.”

It’s taken ingenuity fit for Johns Hopkins’ smart-school reputation. The football budget doesn’t allow unlimited trips to hotbeds like Florida, Texas, California, or even Ohio, so the Blue Jay coaches use opportunities while working summer camps at Ivy League schools to identify recruits. Overlooked by Harvard, Princeton or Yale, but have a great academic profile? They say you’re two inches or 25 pounds too small? Hopkins may be the right fit.

Don’t make that argument to Western New England coach Keith Emery, the former Hopkins defensive coordinator, who faced his old boss on Saturday. He said the Jays’ offensive line—averaging 6-foot-4 and 300 pounds—was so big that some of his defensive players said they couldn’t even see Johns Hopkins junior quarterback Jonathan Germano working read-option sets, which allow for a run or pass play.

“They’re impressive to look at. We had some All-Americans when I was coaching here too, but now they seem to be across the board,” said Emery, on the Blue Jays staff from 1998-2004. “They’re doing the things we taught years ago, they’re just doing it really well with guys from all over the country. That’s the biggest difference. We had guys from Pennsylvania and New Jersey and a smattering from here and there. This team comes from everywhere. They are getting kids from the best high school programs in the country.”

Take junior wide receiver Bradley Munday. He played for a Chagrin Falls, OH, high school program that reached the state playoffs all four seasons he was there. Margraff said he’s a Division-I talent, but was overlooked because he’s 5-foot-8. Johns Hopkins plays in the Centennial Conference and Munday last week was voted its offensive player of the year. On Saturday, he made a beautiful one-handed catch on a trick pass by running back Stuart Walters. Margraff patrolled the sideline in khakis and a Columbia blue pullover, carrying a white folder with notes. He flashed a wry smile when the play was called. It was worthy of a SportsCenter highlight.

But attention for this team is hard to come by in a crowded sports landscape. This isn’t a Division-I team like Maryland. Cherry thinks back to his sophomore year, when nearly 1,500 fans showed for the Blue Jays’ first round playoff game against Wesley College, the same team from Dover, DE, they’ll face this week.

“It was like, ‘Man, I’m really playing college football,’” Cherry said. “Other times, it’s like, ‘Oh man, there’s not many people here.’ But when you’re out there with your teammates and having a good time, you don’t have time to think about that. We have each other, and our coaches, and that gets us through.”

There’s a story everyone knows about Baltimore. That we’re still collectively bitter and depressed. That we’ve never gotten over the incident from the wee hours of March 29, 1984, at the Baltimore Colts Complex in Owings Mills, when fifteen Mayflower moving trucks—like a funeral procession—were loaded with the team’s equipment, books, and furniture and directed out of town to Indianapolis.

All told, it took a mere eight hours to move out a team that was here for 31 years. “I was out there all night and it really felt like a burial,” recalls John Ziemann, a veteran member of the team’s marching band. “We were there until morning when Walter Gutowski, the team’s PR director at the time, came out, closed the gate, and said, ‘Go home guys, they’re gone.’”

This month marks 30 years since that ominous night, which, it should be noted, is almost the exact amount of time the Colts were in Baltimore. And, though they say that time heals all wounds, this is a gaping one.

But, have the past three decades—with the passing of nefarious owner Bob Irsay, the welcoming of the Baltimore Ravens, two Super Bowl championships, and an entirely new generation of football fans—been enough for us to grieve? After all this, are we finally over it?

Of course, initially, the Colts moving left most everyone in Baltimore distraught.

“You just cried and cried and couldn’t believe it,” says Antoinette Duda, 63, owner of Duda’s Tavern in Fells Point and a diehard Colts—and now Ravens—fan. “It was very hard. You cuss out Irsay, and you go through all of that.”

Undoubtedly, the gut reaction when it comes to thinking about the Colts varies by age.

“If you’re in your 60s and 70s, there is part of your heart that is missing. You’ll always feel slighted, cheated, and robbed,” says WBAL-TV broadcaster Gerry Sandusky. “The Baltimore Colts are to you what the Brooklyn Dodgers are to someone in New York.”

While there were plenty of tears to go around 30 years ago, there was also a sense of “good riddance” from some, as Irsay had already tainted the team and its reputation long before that night, and the fans had made their disappointment felt at the turnstiles. In 1972, Irsay got rid of 27 players; Crowds went from sellouts to upwards of 29,000, if the team was lucky.

“Of course the change was dramatic,” says Tom Matte, running back for the Baltimore Colts for 12 years. “But, by that time, everyone was so disenchanted with Irsay. I was happy that he left because he dismantled our team.”

For the city of Baltimore, as a whole, the Colts leaving town represented something much larger than a few Sunday games.

“A population becomes invested emotionally in a team because it defines that city’s sense of self,” says professor David Andrews, who studies the sociology of sport at the University of Maryland. “And when a team goes, what happens to that?”

The city was surely invested in the Colts, as players were ingrained in the community, hanging out at the same bars as fans and interacting often with the Colts Corrals, which were local fan clubs. Suffice it to say, it was more than just a game.

“Let me put it this way—I was 25 minutes late for my own wedding because a Colts game went into overtime,” says Duda. “I knew the players personally because they would come down to your bull roast, and they did a lot for small businesses.”

“When people remember the Colts, they remember them in the community,” says Marco Romanell, 29, a Ravens blogger for SouthBmore.com. “That’s why it was probably such a shock when the team left. Not only is the team leaving, but so are the people you conversed with or people you’d see every weekend. I think young fans relate by imagining what it would be like if the Ravens left tomorrow.”

Ziemann, who is now the deputy director of the Sports Legends and Babe Ruth Birthplace museums, uses this tactic a lot—especially when kids ask him why there’s an exhibit at the museum about the “Indianapolis” Colts.

“The only way I can relate it to the younger generation is to have them imagine they wake up one day and the Ravens are the Portland, Oregon Ravens,” he says. “Then they start to realize how sad it was.”

Like any mourning process, there are stages of grief. And the bleak 12 years without a team—the CFL didn’t cut it—finally ended in 1996, when Art Modell and the Ravens arrived from Cleveland.

“When we came to town, we had to overcome the fact that, in some fans’ minds, we had just ‘Irsayed’ Cleveland,” says Kevin Byrne, Ravens senior VP of public and community relations. “We knew that everyone here still loved their Baltimore Colts, so we reached out to the old players. The keys were getting Johnny Unitas and Lenny Moore out on the field for that first game. That kind of told the fans, ‘It’s okay to root for the Ravens.’”

Almost seamlessly blending the old guard and the new appeared to change the minds of a lot of skeptical Colts fans.

“Every game you go to, you see Johnny’s statue. Every time a Raven is inducted in the Ring of Honor, Lenny Moore is on the field,” says Sandusky. “That the Ravens were inclusive helped to close some of those wounds. They made a story that wasn’t two chapters, but softly blurred the lines—making it Baltimore football history instead.”

Of course, the concept of keeping the same marching band—one that was profiled in Barry Levinson’s ESPN 30 for 30 documentary The Band That Wouldn’t Die—was another way to bridge the gap.

“The Modells came in and said, ‘We’re not here to erase your history, we’re here to add to it,’” Ziemann says. “They had the statue built, adopted the band, recognized the Colt Corrals. That made it 100-percent easier to move on.”

Something else that has made it easier over the years? Well, that’s where the game comes in. Many close to the organization—and fans alike—are quick to point out that we beat Indy to the Super Bowl.

“The city was ecstatic and the fans were ecstatic,” says Duda. “Us oldsters will remember the way it was, and we’re going to compare it, of course. But it was so great for the city, and it certainly proved a point.”

Members of the younger generation, who admit that they have no personal attachment to the Colts, have grown up with the Ravens franchise, which turns 18 this season. They feel that winning Super Bowls in both 2000 and 2012 forged the team’s symbiotic relationship with the city of Baltimore.

“Winning one championship was okay, since we stuck it to the Colts before they did,” says blogger Romanell. “But winning that second championship, having a Raven in the Hall of Fame, and the fact that we now have a franchise quarterback, there is no reason to be bitter still.”

Clearly, younger fans seem to be over it, but where does that age divide fall?

“Every year, I try to figure out what the age line is,” says Sandusky. “There’s a line at which point the Colts are not your issue. Right now it’s around 55 years old.”

This generational rift is unique to Baltimore. With most sports teams, you are loyal to whomever your parents (or grandparents) rooted for. Because that can’t happen here, another interesting phenomenon is starting.

“I think now families are connecting again,” says Byrne at the Ravens. “Normally in sports, the generational love moves downward. Here it’s moving upward. Old Colts fans are being persuaded by their grandchildren to give the Ravens a chance.”

Judging by citywide purple Fridays and fans of all ages filling the stands at M&T Bank Stadium every Sunday, the transition seems to be working.

“Kids take their parents to the game now. It used to be that parents bought the tickets, but now that’s reversed,” says Duda. “To me, if you like football, you like football. And the Ravens are my team now.”

In essence, being a Baltimore Colts fan and being a Baltimore Ravens fan are not mutually exclusive concepts.

“These fans have a dual identity now,” professor Andrews says. “They have memories of their parents, Unitas, Memorial Stadium. But they are now wedded to a new team, which has become the new definer of Baltimore.”

The old Colts themselves have helped to bridge the 12-year gap between teams.

“Lenny Moore is a regular at our practices and has lunch at our cafeteria,” Byrne says. “Ray Rice and Lenny are friends. Stan White is on our radio broadcast. Kids rub the foot on Johnny U’s statue outside the stadium. All these things help our players and fans understand how meaningful the Colts were.”

One thing that has remained constant throughout the past 30 years (besides the band, of course) is the city of Baltimore. Byrne and others agreed that last year’s overwhelming Super Bowl parade underscored what we already knew—we are a great football town.

“If you put it all together, we’d be the winningest franchise,” says former Colt Matte. “Between the Colts, [CFL] Stallions, [USFL] Stars, and Ravens, every team we’ve had has been successful, and that’s because we have the greatest fans in the world.”

When it’s fall in Baltimore—no matter if it’s 1964 or 2014—the exuberance and passion for the game of football is obvious to this day.

“I’d say 99-percent of the people I know are diehard Ravens fans,” Romanell says. “It’s kind of hard not to get wrapped up in it, the energy, the purple Fridays, it’s hard not to embrace.”

But, have these great and loyal fans moved on and let go?

Truth be told, emotions still remain raw when talking about the Colts, but some of that anger and bitterness seems to have mellowed.

“The edge is definitely gone,” Sandusky says. “I don’t think people feel as compelled to drive a Mayflower truck off the road as they used to.”

Credit the Modells, the Ravens franchise, the Super Bowl rings, or the fans, but this much is certain: Our cynicism from 30 years ago now feels a lot more like optimism.

“I’ll never forget the good times, the pride I had in that horseshoe logo, and the name Baltimore Colts,” Ziemann says. “But my heart and soul now belong to the black helmet with the purple bird head.”

How The Deal Went Down

For
11 long years, Baltimore got the cold shoulder from the National
Football League. But when the Cleveland Browns called, suddenly
Baltimore was the belle of the ball.

January 1996

Behind The Battles Over Baltimore’s Sports Future

With
or without the Stars, the city’s chances of rejoining the NFL – and
keeping the Orioles – are in serious doubt. Here’s the inside story of
local big shots working to save our big-league sports status.

November 1984

The Annotated Greatest Quarterback of All Time

He passed away on September 11, 2002, the victim of a heart attack. John Constantine Unitas, we will miss you.